


Son of Stars and Sand

by lyn452



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Incest, Politics, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-01-24 09:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18568210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn452/pseuds/lyn452
Summary: Arthur Dayne defeats Ned Stark guarding the Tower of Joy, and then protects his prince's last living heir with the help of his sister Ashara. But Jon wasn't the only Targaryen to survive King Robert's wrath, and Dorne is playing the long game when it comes to the Iron Throne, which the Daynes get drawn into.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just what I needed, another Game of Thrones WIP. I thought about waiting to post this when I had more written, but I have no patience.

**** Ashara Dayne waited for her brother. She spent most of the war worried for his safety, as she knew he would never leave his prince’s side. No matter who won the war, Arthur Dayne would always be Rhaegar Targaryen’s man.

Now that Rhaegar was dead and the Targaryen cause all but lost, she worried that her brother would suffer the consequences of choosing the wrong side. Ashara had lost so much in this war. She was so close to despair. How would she bear the death of her brother too?

She heard the call of a rider approaching. Her heart leapt; was it Arthur? She ran down the tower she’d been spending most of her time in as of late to meet the rider. When she reached the courtyard, the massive doors were being closed again and a cloaked figure was climbing off his horse.

He turned to Ashara and pulled his hood down. She cried out at the sight of him and rushed over to embrace him, “Arthur!”

He pulled back before she could touch him. “Not here,” he said, his eyes darting to the walls and all of the people watching them. Ashara didn’t really understand, but she obeyed, guiding him to the tower room where they could speak privately.

She noticed he was keeping one of his arms hidden by his riding cloak. His eyes continued to dart around suspiciously even as walked with her to their home. What was wrong with him? What could he possibly be hiding?

When the door closed and they were alone, Arthur let out a sigh. Ashara stood back, confused. Arthur checked the room, which struck Ashara as paranoid. “Are you okay, Arthur?”

Her brother looked down and shook his head. Ashara stepped towards him as Arthur brought out what he’d been hiding. Ashara gasped at the sight of the baby. “Who is this?” she asked.

Arthur handed her the babe. Her brother had never had any talent with children, only the sword. Ashara took the baby, cradling it to her breast. Finally, Arthur answered, “Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and heir to the Iron Throne.” 

In her shock, Ashara nearly dropped the child, only stopping when the slip caused the baby to cry out. She clutched him closer. She heard what had happened to this baby’s brother. She wouldn’t let that happen to this innocent boy. 

“What am I to do, Ashara? I swore to Rhaegar I would protect his son with my life. I killed Ned Stark and his party already. I...What am I to do?” Arthur Dayne sat and for the first time, Ashara saw that her brother was unsure of himself, unsure of what he should do. Of what the right thing was. 

Ashara took her brother’s hand. “Keep your word. Protect him. We will do it together. We will hide him here.”

“How?”

Ashara took a deep breath. “I’ve been held up in here for months, waiting for you. We shan’t say anything, but you know the rumors of how Ned Stark loved me. With him dead…” She broke off. Ned Stark had been an honorable man, and she had liked the man, could she do this to him? He didn’t deserve it. But then she looked down at the innocent boy, his dark hair. She suspected he would possess his mother’s northern looks. Wouldn’t he want his nephew safe? Wouldn’t he have made the sacrifice given the choice? Ashara had no right to make the choice for him, but she did anyway. She swallowed and finished, “...assumptions could be made.”

“No,” Arthur stood. “No, I will not have you dishonored.”

Ashara shushed her brother, touching his arm gently. “I can live with a stain on my reputation. This boy will not live as a trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. King Robert Baratheon won’t allow it.”

“King Robert,” Arthur scoffed. Ashara knew now was not the moment to bring up the missive she’d received from the new king. He wanted Arthur to serve in his Kingsguard. She knew her brother would never serve a man he considered a murderer and usper, but she also knew if she told him now, he would respond in such an insulting way, he would probably get himself killed. “He can be my bastard instead. We’ll say I begot him on one of your serving girls.”

Ashara scoffed, “No one will believe the great Sword of the Morning dishonored his vows. They already believe I loved Ned Stark because we danced together at Harrenhal.” She knew her brother knew it was the best way, he was just letting his honor stop him. “Arthur, you know this is the right way to do this. Though we’ll never confirm anything, to protect him further. Let others decide which rumors are the most believable.” 

“His wife will hate you. I heard she gave birth to his first born son recently.” 

“Let her. Catelyn Tully never scared me.” 

Arthur clearly wanted to argue more, but then Aegon gurgled. The knight looked down to the baby and looked resigned. He met Ashara’s eyes. “Let’s hope he gets his father’s eyes. He’ll look enough like you to pass for your child then.”

Ashara nodded, though she saw how much of the north was already in the babe. She played a bit with the baby who stared up at her. “He’s not the last Targaryen,” she pointed out. “There’s still more blood to be shed in that family. Queen Rhaella is at Dragonstone with her son and her baby within. Viserys was declared king I heard.” She looked down at the boy who was destined to play the great game of thrones. “This child will have to deal with his uncle as well as Robert Baratheon for the throne.”

Arthur sighed, holding his head. “Damn rules of succession. They always get messy and the realm bleeds to sort it out.” He stood, his hand stroking Dawn’s hilt. “The babe Rhaella carries hasn’t been born yet?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” She wondered what her brother was thinking.

“Queen Rhaella’s word will still carry weight with people. Robert will have to kill her and her children. If her baby is a son and lives, he will support his brother’s claim to the throne.”

Ashara finished the thought. “If her baby is a daughter, she will be a fitting Targaryen bride and queen for her brother.” She cradled the baby closer to her. “Our little Sand won’t even get support from what little family he has left.” 

Arthur’s eyes shut at his sister’s word, Sand. “Ser Willem Darry is with the family on Dragonstone, he will see to their protection. Perhaps I should join them now.” 

“No,” Ashara said. “As you said, Ser Darry can protect them. You have your own Targaryen to look after.” Ashara moved the child closer to the knight.

His eyes opened and he looked to the baby. “I will see to my Targaryen prince.” Decided, he stood and asked, “Has King Robert set any messages yet?”

“Yes,” Ashara answered truthfully now that her brother had returned to his calm, decisive self. “He wants you to serve as his one of his Kingsguard.”

“So he says, it’s possible he wants to kill me for the murder of Ned Stark, possibly his beloved Lyanna too, if that’s the story they all decide to tell. Just as they said Rhaegar raped and kidnapped the girl.” 

“They say he’s pardoning everyone who fought against him in the battle. Ser Selmy has already accepted a position as his Lord Commander.”

This news seemed to give her brother pause. Still he shook his head. “No, I cannot. I’d likely kill Robert Baratheon, be no better than that Lannister.” 

Ashara knew this was no idle thought. Her brother had been so close to Rhaegar. He would not hear a word spoken against his prince. Even Ashara criticisms of the prince's treatment of Elia had been met with scowls. She could only imagine what Rhaegar’s murderer would say of him and how her brother would react. No, she thought. Better that Arthur stay far from Robert’s court. 

“What are we going to call him?” She nodded down at the baby. “We can’t very well call him Aegon.”

“Jon,” Arthur answered. “A common name that should go unnoticed.” 

Jon Sand, Ashara thought. She looked at the miniature northerner, thinking of Ned Stark, the honorable man who had held her so gently as they danced. The name seemed wrong, this child was of Snow not Sand.

“Jon Snow,” she said aloud to the babe.

Arthur’s eyebrow raised. “It should be Sand. Snow will cause too many questions.” 

“It doesn’t fit him,” Ashara insisted. “He is a Snow.” Arthur never had the heart or ability to fight his sister, and Ashara knew most of the realm thought her half-mad anyway. Let them wonder.

And so the child was given his new name, Jon Snow. 


	2. Secrets Buried in Dornish Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets never stay secret; even when they do.

“Get up. Do it again.” Arthur twirled his sword.

Ashara felt bad for her boy, but Jon, stubborn as always, picked himself up from the sand, grabbing his sword again. She wondered how the teenaged boy might fair against an opponent his own age. It had been years since Edric had been allowed to spar with the boy, as he’d been sent off to squire with Sir Beric. Jon only ever fought her brother, and it was hardly a fair fight. Arthur was the greatest a swordsman of a generation, perhaps more than that. Hardly anyone could beat him. No one beat him consistently.

She watched her son retake his fighting stance. Jon could come close though, or at least he was getting closer to beating Arthur. He reminded her of his father, Rhaegar grew to the point where he beat Arthur on a good day. They had the same fluid motions, the same fierce, quick dancing style of fighting.

Like his father, Jon also didn’t enjoy fighting; not like Arthur. Ashara knew that her brother’s blood singed when he was fighting, he’d once told her it was the only time he truly felt alive. Jon didn’t feel that way. He did it because he knew he had to, and he was good at it because he refused to quit and trained constantly.

Just like Rhaegar. It scared Ashara some days, just how alike father and son were. Jon had his mother’s looks, but he acted like his father. The same gloom followed him around.

She wanted to lift it, but she knew she couldn’t. Just as her princess Elia could never lift her husband’s gloom. Jon had been born under a black cloud, just like his father, and he would never be rid of the stain. She did the best she could. Jon had everything a noble son could ask for, except that he wasn’t allowed outside the castle gates. Ashara feared that someone might see the same similarities she did. Jon would never disobey her or Arthur, and so he stayed where he was. He read the books assigned to him and he trained with his sword.

But Jon was growing, he was nearly a man now and clearly itching to leave and make his own way in the world. Arthur had told her that she would have to let go sometime. That he would still look after the boy, but Ashara wasn’t ready. The world was a terrifying place, and she didn’t want her son exposed to its dangers just yet.

Arthur threw a vicious punch and sent Jon back to the sand again. Ashara shot him a glare, but Arthur ignored her as he always did when it came to fighting. He told her that Jon might be the next Sword of the Morning, with more time and practice. Ashara had just rolled her eyes at her brother; Jon had the blood of kings in his veins, but of course, that is all her brother would think about.

Jon got up again and relaxed into a fighting stance again, but Arthur seemed to finally notice the teenager’s exhaustion. “That’s enough. You did well, Jon.”

Jon beamed at the praise, which made Ashara smile. Jon loved and admired his uncle so much. The feeling was mutual despite the fact that Arthur rarely showed it. In every way, Arthur was Jon’s father, and he was a doting one despite his attempts to hide it. Her brother never really had the patience to train fighters, but with Jon, he made the extra effort. They trained everyday. Ashara knew it was the best part of the day for both.

Jon saw her and nodded, rushing over. “Mother, is there something you need?”

Ashara shook her head, taking Jon’s sweaty face in her hands and kissing his forehead. He blushed and moved back. “Stop, I’m all sweaty.”

Oh yes, Jon was growing, pretending to be too old for a mother’s affection. But not yet a man grown, Ashara thought. Grown men understood that life could be harsh and longed for a mother’s love in the face of it in their most desperate moments. She was sure even Arthur had probably cried out for their mother at some point.

But she let Jon keep his newly formed pride.

Arthur sat next to her. He wasn’t sweaty or breathing hard, too used to hard fighting and training. Ashara saw that her brother’s blonde hair was beginning to gray at his temples, his eyes were gaining wrinkles at their corners, but he was still a long way from an old man. Ashara said, “Adam set a letter.”

Arthur nodded and began cleaning Dawn. Ashara knew she shouldn’t be surprised, but she thought Arthur might have a little curiosity as to what their eldest brother might want. She was burning with desire to know, but the scroll had been addressed to Arthur, not her.

She supposed that was partially her own fault as she and Adam weren’t on speaking terms. Lord Adam Dayne was Dornish, so he didn’t really care that his sister had a natural son, he did care that it limited his options to Dornish Lords to marry her off to and he did mind that it tainted Allyria’s reputation by association. When Ashara had refused to marry, Adam had accused her of neglecting her duties to her House. Ashara had expected support from Arthur, who knew her reasons for not wanting anyone else getting too close to Jon, why she feared ever growing to love a husband she’d feel obligated to be truthful to, but Arthur had remained sympathetic to their brother. After the fight, he’d told her, “He’s Lord of Starfell and Head of House Dayne, it’s his responsibility to build alliances with other houses. From his view, we’ve neglected our duties. We should be married, continuing the Dayne legacy. Instead we hide away with your bastard boy. He should be mad at us.”

Allyria had been just as angry with them. Adam kept her close after his other siblings strayed from their duties. So she felt she got stuck carrying the burdens of all the other Daynes. Sometimes Ashara wondered if they should have told their brother and sister the truth. It might have made things easier for them all.

But no, a secret as big as they carried could only be held by as few people as possible. Only she and Arthur could ever know the truth about Jon. He had to be protected, whatever the cost.

The tension between the four siblings had remained at a low simmer until a few years ago, when the best match Adam could get for Allyria was Lord Beric Dondarrion. He no longer allowed his son near Arthur or Jon, and hadn’t spoken to any of them since. Neither had Allyria.

So Ashara wondered what could have possibly prompted the change now. Even concerns with their household budget were never directly handled by Lord Adam, he always sent intermediaries. So what could be so important that Adam wrote the message himself?

But Arthur continued cleaning his sword with his good left hand as the stump that had been his right hand held the blade in place. He’d lost his hand as punishment for killing Ned Stark and as a result of his presence when Lyanna Stark had died. Robert had wanted someone to blame for his wife dying and Arthur had been the easiest target.

There had been calls to send him to the wall or execute him, but the Martells argued on her brother’s behalf, reminding the king of all the trouble they’d caused previous kings, kings who rode dragons Robert certainly didn’t have. Robert had said he didn’t want the best swordsman in the kingdom left to his own devices, when he was clearly not very loyal to his new king.

The hand had been the compromise they’d reached.

It hadn’t mattered much to Arthur, losing his sword hand. He’d forced himself to learn to use his left hand as well as his right since he’d been a boy. He’d never favored one hand over the other.

Robert Baratheon didn’t need to know that. And as far as Ashara knew, he never had learned.

She once mentioned they could get him a fake hand, but he preferred the stump. To always remind him who Good King Robert really was, he’d said. Her brother’s treasonous talk always scared Ashara. The Spider had spies everywhere.

“Arthur,” she tried prompting him.

“Tell me what it says then, Ashara,” Arthur instructed. Jon was still with them, not looking too interested thought Ashara knew he was still probably listening. She looked for any servants, none were nearby that she could see. So she broke open the seal and read her eldest brother’s sloppy but legible script.

Ashara’s eyes squinted at the note, immediately suspicious. What did this mean? “Prince Doran Martell wants to speak to you, wants us all to come to Sunspear, even mentioned Jon by name.”

That caught Arthur’s attention. He stopped cleaning Dawn, sitting up and looking down at the teenager who wasn’t bothering to hide his interest now. “Jon,” Arthur carefully asked, “What does he want Jon for?”

Ashara was just as careful with Jon listening and any stray servants that may be around. “I don’t know. Perhaps just to meet him.”

“No, the Martells are snakes. They wouldn’t invite him without some intention.”

Ashara understood her brother’s worry. Jon was clearly a northerner, growing more into his looks with each day. Part of her knew it was safer than looking like Rhaegar, but if he’d taken more after his father, he would blend into the Dayne family better. Ashara looked to her son. “Jon, why don’t you…”

“I’m going,” Jon stopped her from excusing him. He stood up to his full height. “I’m going to Sunspear.”

Ashara and Arthur exchanged a look. It was a look that held an entire conversation. They couldn’t very well ignore and disobey their liege lord. It would just cause more problems and attention than they had apparently attracted.

They would be going to Sunspear, by orders of the Martells.

 

* * *

 

Arthur Dayne had never liked Sunspear. His time north had made him prefer a cooler climate and more traditional Westerosi architecture. It was too hot here, the air too full of poison.

It held all of KIng’s Landing’s deceit and ugliness with none of its noise. The quiet of the city always unnerved Arthur. It was like its royal family, a coiled snake always ready to strike.

He preferred the dragons to the snakes, dragons were never subtle with their power and violence. You knew when they were angry, knew when to expect Fire and Blood. The Martells weren’t like that, they could take years to attack. They could evade and dodge and hide until they found an opportunity to strike back. It was effective and made Dorne possibly the most powerful of the Seven Kingdoms, but Arthur was a soldier and knight. He prefered straight fights over underhanded methods.

Ashara and Jon were escorted to rooms Arthur was sure would be lavish. But Arthur didn’t want to rest and be pampered after his journey, he wanted to find out what the prince wanted and return home. This seemed to amuse the princess who was escorting him. Arthur wasn’t sure if the girl was the heir or one of the infamous Sand Snakes, as he hadn’t bothered keeping up with court politics in the years of hiding.

He wondered if he should have now. Arthur was left to wait in a garden, the girl giving his form an admiring look before leaving. He was used to such attentions and even more used to ignoring them. He wasn’t still technically avowed to be celibate, but like Ashara, he knew that any romantic entanglements could only hurt Jon. He may no longer wear the white cloak, but he was still Rhaegar’s Kingsguard, and he would obey his prince’s final command until his final breath.

Arthur heard the wheels before he saw the prince. He turned to face the direction his prince would arrive in, but a quick movement to his left caused him to unsheathe his sword.

He caught the Red Viper’s blade just in time to stop the man from taking his head off. Arthur glared at Oberyn who grinned. “Good to see the Sword of the Morning hasn’t allowed himself to rust in his hiding.”

Prince Doran chided, “Brother, that is not the way to welcome an honored guest.”

Oberyn pulled his spear away, tucking it behind his back. “I beg to different, brother.” His dark eyes sparkled as they met Arthur’s violet ones. “When’s the last time you had a real fight, Sword of the Morning? I’m sure you miss it.”

Arthur scoffed, putting Dawn back in his scabbard. “You really think you could give me one?”

Oberyn laughed. Arthur ignored him, giving Doran his full attention along with a small bow. “My prince.”

The prince smiled slightly at the show of respect. Arthur knew the prince wasn’t popular. He wasn’t his dashing brother; he didn’t capture the people’s imaginations. He was bookish and wise, which were good traits in a ruler, Arthur knew, as heroes rarely made good kings. But people wanted their kings to be heroes anyway.

They killed the Last Dragon, Arthur thought bitterly, the last man who could have been both.

Doran extended a hand towards the garden, “Let us take a walk, Ser Dayne.”

Oberyn’s eyes narrowed as if daring Arthur to make a joke about Prince Doran walking, but Arthur said nothing. He’d learned how to keep his mouth shut and his eyes blind to many things in King Aerys’ court.

He wished Adam was here, this was his duty as Lord of Starfall. But Adam had taken to his sick bed again, Arthur had been told. Adam suffered from ulcers and other maladies his entire life, but the servants hadn’t disguised their fear when they told him about the latest illness. Arthur hoped his brother would hold off death a little longer. Long enough for his son to become a man, as Arthur had no desire to be the head of House Dayne.

Doran and him exchanged pleasantries to start, asking after each other’s families. When Doran mentioned Jon, Arthur’s spine stiffened. “Jon is nearly a man grown now. I think he’s about the same age as my own boy, Quentyn.”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, he is becoming a good man, as I’m sure is your son.” Though Jon might be a king someday, not just a prince. But Arthur knew he couldn’t trust that information to anyone just yet. Jon wouldn’t be safe, not even in the heart of Dorne. Robert had proved with Viserys and the princess that he wasn’t above sending assassins.

Doran nodded. “He was conceived during the Rebellion, correct?” Arthur nodded. Doran’s sharp eyes stayed on Ser Dayne. “Did you ever learn who the boy’s father was?”

Arthur repeated the lie that had become natural to him after all these years. “Ashara never told me. She refuses to name the father, only that he was a northerner.”

Oberyn scoffed. “I saw the boy when you arrived. He’s certainly a Stark. Looks just like those dour north lords. The bigger mystery is how one of those prudes charmed your sister into bed.”

Doran scowled at his brother, who ignored his prince. Arthur kept a cool head, but his hand returned to the hilt of Dawn. Oberyn continued, “I bet it was Eddard. Ned they called him.” The viper’s eyes narrowed on Ser Dayne. “Tell me, does the boy know you murdered his father? Your sister certainly forgave you quick enough for that.”

“Enough,” Doran hissed.

Arthur looked away. He hated being reminded of that day. He always wondered, should have he just explained to Ned Stark what was going on with his sister? Ned Stark had been a man of honor, who clearly loved his sister. He might have helped protect the boy. The north might have been a better place to hide Jon.

But Arthur had watched Lyanna Stark pen the message to her family, explaining everything about running off with her love. Her father and oldest brother had been men of honor too, yet even with the knowledge that Lyanna had run off to elope out of love, they had went to Aerys demanding justice for their kidnapped family member. They hadn’t deserved what happened to them, but Arthur knew that Ned Stark had been Robert Baratheon’s best friend. There was no way for him to know who the man would pick if pressed: his sister for who he broke his oath and rose in rebellion for or his best friend who’d he’d pledged his fealty to as his new king.

Arthur had always guessed he would have put his sister first, but when it came to it, he’d sacrificed his sister’s honor and virtue for his best friend’s son. Who was to say Ned Stark wouldn’t have done the same?

It was all in the past now. What had happened had happened. Arthur chose not to respond and there was a moment of awkward silence.

They stopped at a fountain, which had carved at the top, the Martell seal of a sun and spear. Doran looked to Arthur,  “Sometimes I think the Martell words apply to you as well Ser Dayne: unbowed, unbent, unbroken.”

Arthur took the compliment as the high lord he’d been born as, “I do not deserve such an honor, my prince.”

Doran smiled as though amused by Arthur’s courtly flattery. It did feel strange to Arthur. This was his brother’s role, not his, playing the games of court. With a wave of his hand, Doran dismissed the man that had been pushing his wheeled chair. Arthur watched the man leave, understanding that the pleasant chatting was over. He shifted his weight so he could be ready for a fight before running to get his family out of here if necessary. He didn’t doubt he could beat the Red Viper, but Oberyn wasn’t known for his honor and Arthur couldn’t be sure what dirty tricks the man had up his sleeves.

The prince grinned at him as if he knew Arthur’s thoughts. He wished he hadn’t let Jon and Ashara alone. He should have stayed with them.

“I wanted to speak with you about King Robert Baratheon.” The prince leaned forward to watch the fish in the pond in the fountain. “They say he’s gone to fat and he’s bankrupting the country with his constant tourneys.”

Arthur had stopped paying attention to most of the politics of Westeros, only caring as much as it might affect Jon. But he nodded, the information matched what little he knew.

“He may not be Aerys Targaryen, but he’s no Rhaegar Targaryen either.” Arthur could feel Oberyn’s eyes burning into him, but Doran didn’t seem to care what his reaction to the name might be. “I remember the night before my sister married the Dragon Prince, I asked her if she really wanted to do it. If he would make her happy. She said that Rhaegar might never make her happy but he would never break her heart either.” Doran’s eyes closed. “I always wondered if her words were true. I don’t know that she ever loved her foolish husband, but her humiliation at Hardenhal couldn’t have been easy to bare.”

Arthur remembered that, the princess had mostly been mad about Rhaegar’s impulsiveness and how it would ruin their plans to gather the lords against Aerys. “You’ve just isolated yourself from half the damned kingdoms with that stunt, you stupid man.”

“I’m sorry if it humiliated you, Elia. I…”

“Oh, I don’t care about your feelings for some northern girl, Rhae. I can’t give you any more children, fuck her, marry her, love her, I don’t care. I care about the throne. It belongs to Aegon and Rhaenys, your children who will never be safe while that mad man lives.”

“I know. It’s not that easy. I can’t just kill him. I’d be branded both kin and king slayer, neither would secure my rule. And my father talks of disinheriting me every other day. I don’t know Viserys, but he’s too young to rule and what would his regency look like with those sycophants my father surrounds himself with in charge?”

“Dorne is home to many poisons that will never be detected, my king.”

Arthur cut the memory off there. There had never been much love between Rhaegar and Elia, but there had been respect and affection. They were partners, especially when it came to their children. If it wasn’t for Jon, Arthur might wish that Rhaegar had never known love, as his political marriage suited him far better than the passion and romance that had overwhelmed him with Lyanna.

Doran broke away from studying the fishes, studying Arthur now instead. “You never broke faith with the Targaryens, did you Ser Dayne? It would have been much easier for you and your family if you’d stayed with on Robert’s Kingsguard. You started a new reign with a king who hated you.”

He thought back to all those years ago. If he’d somehow convinced Rhaegar to let him come with, there never would have been a King Robert. It was the biggest regret of his life. The realm lost a great king in exchange for a drunken lout.

He lost his best friend because he hadn’t been at his side when he needed him most. He’d heard the songs and tales about the Battle on the Trident, knew they were probably mostly bullshit. One-on-one fights didn’t happen like that in battle. But Robert must have been looking for the prince, and Rhaegar hadn’t been the type to run from a fight. Still, tales of honorable deaths were usually bullshit. He knew what fighting and war actually was -- butchery. He often wondered how long Rhaegar laid in that water, choking on his own blood.

Arthur realized Prince Martell was waiting for an answer. “No, my lord. I never did.”

It had caused a lot of problems for his family. The Daynes weren’t trusted at court now. A dishonored lady, a fallen knight, a bastard whose father couldn’t be named -- his brother loved to remind him of how far they’d fallen because of his actions.

But Arthur knew it had been the right thing. Jon was so much like his father. He would be as great a king as his father would have been.

“I was surprised you didn’t join the remaining Targaryens in their exile. From what I’ve heard, the beggar king and his sister could have used your help.”

It cut straight to his heart for Arthur to hear that. He had always wondered if he should have joined Ser Darry. He should have protected Rhaegar’s brother and sister.

But he had Jon. Rhaegar’s son. He’d had a choice, and he’d made it. It was done now. “I had to help my sister. I had to help her son.” He hated saying the lie.   

“Even the great Ser Dayne put his family before his duty.” Doran’s eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”

Arthur understood Adam’s complaints about their prince. The knowing gaze made the knight uncomfortable. Oberyn wasn’t placated. “Your prince Rhaegar didn’t. He left Elia and their children to the mercy of the mad king and the Lannisters.”

Arthur swallowed his anger. He couldn’t properly defend Rhaegar without revealing the truth. “Rhaegar thought his enemy were men of honor. He didn’t know they would kill children and his innocent lady wife.”

Oberyn lost his temper. “The fool should have known. He should have left kingsguard to protect her. Why did he leave three of his best warriors in Dorne to protect the Stark girl?”

Arthur had no answer. “I did as my prince commanded. It wasn’t my place to question his orders.”

“Like a dog with his master rather than a man,” Oberyn sneered.

Doran turned to Oberyn, angry now. “Calm yourself. Go take a walk.”

The Red Viper looked ready to strike at his own brother, but he gave a tight bow and stormed off. Arthur wasn’t sorry to see him go.  

Doran looked at Arthur’s stump. Arthur’s nonexistent fingers flexed under the attention, which were more of a phantom memory than an actual sensation for the knight. The prince said, “Good King Robert did that, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered, his voice tight.

“He smiled. That fucker who calls himself a king smiled when the bodies of my niece and nephew were laid at his feet.” Doran’s face was alight with as much anger as his brother’s now. “Robert Baratheon thinks himself as a conqueror, like Aegon I. But Aegon couldn’t conquer Dorne and the Baratheons certainly haven’t.”

The prince’s voice returned to its natural calm. “Dorne’s agreement was with the Targaryens, not the Baratheons. We don’t bow so easily as other kingdoms.” He dug for something, then produced a piece of parchment. “I know your family still allies itself with the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, so I have an important favor to ask of you.”

For a moment, Arthur panicked. How did he know who Jon really was? But then he caught sight of the seal on the scroll. Darry. He remembered it had been Ser Willem that had spirited the king and princess from Dragonstone to Essos.

Viserys. Doran was speaking of Viserys Targaryen. “What do you need of me?”

“That scroll in your hand is an agreement between Dorne and Ser Willem Darry, made years ago. Dorne would help restore Viserys to the throne and he would take my daughter as his bride, uniting our houses once more.”

Arthur remembered what Doran had called his apparent son-in-law earlier, the beggar king. “Why now?”

“Viserys gifted his sister to a Dothraki khal in exchange for an army. He finally has some strength behind him. With the Dothraki, we may just have the necessary strength. I need you to go to Essos and fetch him.”

Arthur had only seen Prince Viserys a few times. The king had kept the boy locked up, away from everyone, even his guards. Arthur knew nothing of the child, now man’s character. Rhaella had been the child’s only constant companion, and she had shielded him from his father as best she could. Arthur had thought this a good thing, but he remembered Rhaegar worrying about it. “I know my mother means well, but I’m worried if Viserys never sees our father for the man he truly is, he won’t understand. It’s a line every Targaryen walks, Ser Dayne, the one between madness and greatness. And it’s razor thin.”

Arthur hadn’t understood his prince’s words, not really. Jon never seemed mad and neither did Rhaegar. They had their bouts of anger and melancholy, but they were nothing like Aerys. He saw only greatness in them.

He wondered where Viserys and the girl, the sister whose name he couldn’t remember, one of the D ones he thought, Daenys maybe, fell on that line. He thought he knew where the man fell, what kind of man sold off his sister to be raped by some savage?

But then didn’t he do the same? Ashara wouldn’t be married and her stain even carried to their younger sister, as his eldest brother loved to remind him. Dishonor had infected since the rebellion.

Ashara had made that decision though, he’d tried to spare her. Arthur doubted the princess had had any say in her marriage.

“There’s another reason I want you to do this.” Doran’s black eyes twinkled with secrets and wisdom. “You’ve seen the Targaryen madness, Ser Dayne. I don’t want my daughter exposed to it. If the boy has been tainted by by his father’s stain, kill him and bring the girl instead. We’ll marry her to Quentyn.”

“You don’t have an agreement with the sister.” Arthur pointed out. “She may not hold to it.”

Doran scoffed. “The girl is said to be quiet, soft and malleable. She’ll do as she’s told.”

Arthur doubted any Targaryen would quietly do as they were told, but he didn’t want to disagree with the prince. Still he nodded, then he asked, “What was the princess named?”

“Daenerys. Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

* * *

 

Jon Snow was fascinated by Sunspear. He knew it was probably because this was the furthest he’d ever been allowed to travel outside of his reading, but he was happy to finally feel like he’d left home. He was finally beginning to become a man.

His mother, he knew, was overprotective and hesitant to let him go. She always wanted him within her eyesight, never wanted him to stray too far, as if something terrible would happen to him if she weren’t around to protect him. Arthur was just as bad, he just showed it differently. He had been training Jon with a sword since he could hold one, insistent that Jon be able to defend himself against an attack. What attacks he would be facing at their home, Jon never got an answer to, but he’d trained as Arthur wanted.

Still it was nice to be free from their loving, if overbearing yoke. Jon tried not to begrudge them their protectiveness, as he knew it came from a good place, but it was still stifling.

Sunspear’s heat was stifling as well. Jon had never liked the warmth, or he liked it, but he preferred cool days that had just a bit of bite in the air. He wondered if Sunspear ever managed to get cool enough for that to happen. They were rare enough where he was, in the north of Dorne.

Sometimes, he dreamed of the true north of Westeros, of the Wall and the snow that was his namesake, and of wolves. He’d asked Arthur about them, but he told him not to put any stock in dreams. Yet still, Jon’s dreams were filled with ice.

He wanted to make the journey someday. Neither his mother or uncle seemed to approve of such a plan, always making excuses to push it off, but Jon knew that one day soon he’d be a man grown and neither could stop him. Actually, Arthur probably could stop him, as Jon couldn’t beat him in a fight, but he was getting closer. One of these days, he was bound to win. He was getting too fast for Arthur, managing to hit him now where for years such a feat seemed impossible. He knew he’d never be better than the Sword of the Morning, but he imagined he could get lucky one day. Jon dreamed of deserving Dawn one day in the future, of strapping his famed family sword to his own belt as he’d watch Arthur do so many times, when he had a wife and children, maybe.

It was just a dream.

Jon felt both thrilled at the freedom of being free from his mother and uncle’s watchful gazes, but also felt that tinge of danger in the air. What could hurt him with the Sword of the Morning guarding him? It made Jon go in on himself a bit more, trying to blend into his surroundings.

But Jon didn’t match his surroundings and got starred at accordingly. It didn’t take long wondering the streets before he retreated back to the palace, sure his mother had discovered him missing and worrying over him.

He tried to remember where his chambers had been, but he wasn’t used to such large buildings and it took little time for him to get lost. He opened the door to what he thought was his chambers to come across a few pretty women who’d been talking. He blushed and muttered an apology.

They looked upon him as cats did a meal. “You must be that pretty Dayne boy,” one of the women said, making another laugh. “Stay, pretty boy. Stay and keep us company.”

Jon’s head went down. “I’m not...I’m no…” Gods, Jon had spent almost no time around women, he didn’t know how to act.

The women didn’t seem bothered by this, dragging him into their chambers and fawning over him in a way that made Jon supremely uncomfortable. He squirmed, trying to escape without offending any of the ladies. It took some time, as he would duck away from one of the women just to be ensnared by another. Jon finally realized they were playing with him, his dilemma was just a game to them.

He burned with embarrassment and anger. One of them groped his ass. “Stop that!” he yelled, his patience gone.

The brown eyes of his tormentor sparkled. “Oh, do you like boys?”

Jon felt his blush. “No, I just don’t like being handled like a slab of meat.”

The woman smiled. One of the others said, “Most men would quite enjoy the princess’ attentions as well as ours.”

Jon blushed harder. He nodded in respect to Arianne. “Your grace,” he grumbled.

She laughed in response. “Oh, I think I like you better with a little fight, Star’s son.” She took his arm, like a lady. “Come, I will play hostess now that my cousins’ have had their naughty way with you.” She jokingly glared at them. “They are such scandalous women. Their mothers would die of shame if they saw them acting in such a manner.”

“Oh, like you weren’t enjoying it just as much.” One of the Sand Snakes called out behind them.  

Arianne’s smile stayed on and she asked politely. “How was your journey, Star’s son?”

Jon wondered why she was calling him that, but he guessed he couldn’t correct a princess. “It was good, your majesty.”

“Have you ever been to Sunspear?”

Jon finally grew excited. “No, but I’ve read about it. I’m happy to visit it.”

“And we are happy to have you here.” Her eyes looked him from head to toe. “Such beauty shouldn’t be hidden away.”

Jon blushed again, unused to such compliments. They walked and exchanged pleasantries. Jon finally began to relax in the princess’ presence and asked if he could see their training grounds. She rolled her eyes, but guided him there.

It was where Jon first spotted the Red Viper. He had heard of Oberyn Martell’s fighting prowess, but it was another thing to see it for himself. The man moved fast, almost too fast for Jon to truly observe. He was a master with his staff and Jon watched with an envy, wishing he was as good with his longsword.

Arianne grew bored and called out to her uncle, breaking his concentration. “Uncle Ob, come meet the Star’s son, Jon Snow.”

Jon tensed again. He wasn’t sure he was ready to meet the Red Viper, but the man smiled at him as he approached. It wasn’t a smile designed to make Jon relax, instead, he tensed further. “So you’re the child who caused Arthur Dayne to forget his duty. Who brought the Dayne House to its knees.”

Jon looked away. He knew his very existence was a source of shame for his family, even though Dorne didn’t look down on natural children. Oberyn studied him for a moment. “No wonder they called you Snow rather than Sand. You look just like your father.”

“My father?” Jon asked. No one ever told him anything about his father. Both his mother and uncle claimed it was too painful to talk about.

Jon had often wondered about his father. His mother had refused any attempt from anyone to name him, and Jon had never really cared. Arthur Dayne was his father in every way that mattered. Who cared who sired him?

Oberyn cocked his head before he snorted. “Of course Ser Arthur Dayne wouldn’t tell you. You’d asked how the man died, and how would that look?”

“He’s dead,” Jon was stunned. “How?”

“Oh, Ned Stark had his head removed from his body,” Oberyn began to twirl his staff behind him.

Ned Stark. Jon was sure he’d heard that name before. That was his father? Ned Stark. He wanted to ask Oberyn a thousand questions, wanted to learn everything he could about the man.

He didn’t need to ask anything, as Oberyn continued. “The Starks rule the North. Winter is Coming.” Oberyn rolled his eyes. “Their house is as dreary as their lands. You should be glad that your mother took you in. Dorne isn’t so barbaric as that northern country. You would have been hated for being born on the wrong side of the sheets.”

Jon knew that was true. He asked, “He’s dead now?” Jon had hoped he might meet his father someday. Talk with him. He’d always assumed he’d died in the war, but it was still saddening to have it confirmed.

“Oh yes, you see, when Ned came to rescue his sister, the Sword of the Morning stopped him.” Oberyn's brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “Lord Stark was no match for a kingsguard, and Ser Arthur Dayne murdered your father. The sister died as well. He lost his hand in punishment for that mess. It would’ve been his head, if my brother hadn’t stopped King Robert. He did more for your family than our own, as our sister goes unavenged.”

Jon took in this information, overwhelmed by it. His uncle had killed his father? The father he longed for his entire life was murdered by the only father he’d ever known? Jon struggled to make sense of any of it. He’d always looked up to a man who killed the only family Jon might have known, in the name of a prince’s lust, guarding some kidnapped woman. Jon began to breath heavily, flinching away when Arianne tried to comfort him.

Oberyn, always delighting in twisting the knife, asked, “What does it feel like, Snow? To know that your uncle killed your father?”

 


End file.
